


If Inconvenient, Love Me Anyway

by Maribor_Petrichor



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Epistolary, Epistolary Texting, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers, Texting, Unrequited Love, sherlock series 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9854846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maribor_Petrichor/pseuds/Maribor_Petrichor
Summary: "Didn't you get John's text?""No. I delete his texts. I delete any text that begins "Hi."John knows Sherlock deletes his texts and always has. After his "death" what starts off as a way to grieve, understand and say goodbye morphs into a journal of honest confessions. John can finally be frank, protected by the knowledge that though in plain sight his mate will never know.





	

**2012**

Hi Sherlock,

You told me something once, flippantly. You said you always delete any text that starts with "Hi", especially the ones from me. I take you at your word because there's nothing about that statement that sounds untrue.

I was offended at the time. You had a way of offending me in those early days. But I think I'm going to take advantage of that. Especially now.

Mycroft said you wouldn't have wanted a service so Mrs. Hudson just had us round for tea. Me, Molly, Greg, Mycroft. It's weird...I don't remember much of it. I arrived. The women cried. Mycroft was aloof. At some point, I left and the next thing I knew I was alone in 221B.

Staring at your chair.

I never noticed all the spots where the sun faded the leather. All the spots you weren't. All the spots you aren't.

That's what life feels like now. A collection of spaces you were, aren't and will never be.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

You wouldn't believe the amount of decision making that goes into choosing a stone. Mycroft took care of your...body. What that means I still don't know. Are you here, underneath this ground? Are you in an urn somewhere? He wouldn't tell me.

We, you and I, never talked about such things. What to do in the event of fill-in-the-blank.

I suppose this qualifies as an "in the event of".

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Your headstone came in today.

Traditional. Upright. Polished black granite. Simple. Just your name. It took 90 days. That's standard. 90 days. 97 days since you died.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I can't close my eyes without seeing you falling. Hearing you hitting the ground.

I have seen horrors but nothing that compares to your body on that pavement.

Your eyes. The blood. The way it soaked your hair.

Alright, I'm not...I'm going now.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I saw my therapist today. First time in a year and a half. I thought it might help. It doesn't feel much like it's helping.

Yes, I told her that you died.

No, I have not told her that I continue to text my dead best friend.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Any day now I expect to get an automated reply telling me my message is undeliverable. It hasn't happened yet. I suppose it's some glitch in the system. Mycroft came and collected a lot of your papers so I can't even find an old bill to shut it off.

Don't think I would though even if I could.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

She wants me to say the word "suicide" out loud. She being the therapist. She doesn't think I'll believe it's real and accept your death unless or until I say it.

I accept your death. But I don't accept suicide and I never will. I know there was something else. There had to be.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

It's very late or very early. And I can hear Bach in my dreams.

Sonata No. 1 in G minor for solo violin.

I woke up and I can still hear it.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Got booted out of the Yard today. Went there just to talk to Greg but I supposed talking turned into badgering. They're treating this like it's all normal. Like there's no investigation to be made.

"Look, John, mate I know you're upset but-"

That was about the time I blew up and it was "recommended" I leave.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

"There's stuff that you wanted to say but didn't say it. Say it now."

I told the therapist this go round that there were things that had been on my mind. Things that were suddenly becoming clear to me about you...about us. And just when I was playing about with the idea of letting you in on it, well, you went and did this. You absolute bastard.

She thinks if I say it to her, say it aloud it will lessen this...she calls it guilt. Free me, or some such nonsense.

The time for saying those things came and went.

I won't be seeing her anymore.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I went with Mrs. Hudson to your grave today. They've put the stone up. It looks nice. Is that a thing people say? "This final monument to your life looks nice."

She walked away a pace so I could talk to you.

I tried to hold it together. But there's so little of me left, it seems.

I told you I was so alone before we met. So alone and so unhappy and you showed me things...a life I didn't know was possible. I can't repay what I owe you. I can't repay what you gave me.

Do you know what I mean? Do you know what I mean?

I'm not sure I know what I mean.

Come back and I'll tell you. I promise. If you just come back I'll be brave and I'll tell you.

Please stop this. Please stop this.

This was a long one, mate. Don't suppose it matters, though. Can't imagine it affecting your texting plan.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Told Mrs. Hudson I'd be back...at some point. I think I told her a lie. I can't go back there. There's too much of you in every inch of that place. I think I'm going to try and find a flat of my own.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Finally back at work. Not our work. Can't do that without you. But back at the clinic for what it's worth.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

How would you deduce me now I wonder? I think if you didn't know me you'd take one look at my clothes and my unshaven face, my disheveled hair, the cut on my hand, the circles under my eyes, the weight I've lost and put on and lost again and determine that I was in a self-destructive spiral, I'm toying with alcoholism and not really succeeding and that I'm grieving the loss of a...what? What would you say? What would you blurt out before thinking it through? What did the person I lost mean to me?

God, I'm actually drunk texting you. I am drunk texting a dead man in the middle of the night.

This is new depths even for me.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

So, that whole back-to-work thing was a bit short lived. I had a row with a patient. They recognized me and they remembered you and they just kept going on and on and on. The next thing I knew I shouting. It's like I can't bear to hear people talk about you. Even though I want to talk about you all the time.

So, I'm off on "medical leave". More time alone with my thoughts. Precisely what I didn't want.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

What about a change? A total change. What if I packed up and left London. Left England. Left the Western world. Left the planet.

Seriously...what's to keep me here?

My only tie is your grave.

I visit you whenever I can.

But is that enough reason to stay?

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Before we met I kept my service revolver in my desk drawer. I had nightmares, almost every time I went to sleep. The war of course. I couldn't leave it behind and it wouldn't part from me either. We were stuck with one another in an uneasy marriage.

I would wake up with a jolt...in tears. Sit up and go over to my desk and take my laptop out of the drawer. My therapist wanted me to keep a blog then. Yeah, that's where it started, did I never tell you that? I'd sit and stare at the screen and then I'd put the laptop back and take out the gun. Then I'd sit and stare at that for awhile.

I've recently picked up both habits again.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I hate you. I hate that you're gone. I hate that you left. I hate what the loss of you has done to me. I hate that I feel worse than before I met you.

I hate you and I think maybe it's time to end this once and for all.

* * *

 

**2014**

Hi Sherlock,

This is just a test message. I'd rather not type something long and drawn out only to get a reply that the number is no longer in service.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

24 hours later and no reply. How on earth can that be?

Two years and this line is still active. I don't envy the bill someone is going to get.

So...yeah. I'm back. Been away for quite awhile. A lot has changed, a lot has happened.

I have some news. The moment I decided, I realized you were the first person I wanted to tell.

I met someone. It's still early days but I'm going to ask her to be my wife. I think it's right and I think it's time. I love her. It surprised even me how quickly it snuck up on me. But it's true. I haven't felt that way since...

In any case, she knows all about you.

She dug me out of a very dark place. Sherlock. Very dark. She got down on her hands and knees and she pulled me up to the sun. And you know I am not a man to be dragged anywhere, especially against my will. But she did it.

Saved twice in a lifetime. Lucky me.

I wish you were here. I think she'd think you were strange and I think you'd tolerate her. Both reactions are more than I could hope for.

I believe you'd wish me well.

Sorry for being gone for so long.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

It's all coming out now. Two fucking years later and it's all coming out. Everything about Moriarty, what he did, how he did it. How he played the police for fools. I should feel vindicated but I don't. I didn't feel much of anything when I heard because it doesn't bring you back. I do take a bit of satisfaction in knowing that Anderson went round the bend.

Mary, that's her name, went with me to your grave today. I've never taken anyone there before. She knows how important you are to me. Were to me. *Are* to me.

She doesn't ask questions, which I like. I don't know if I'm supposed to like that but I do. We don't question each other. We meet one another exactly where we are. Past be damned.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I bloody well nearly left the Hi off this one because I am a step away from wanting you to see it. You would think this is about the lies. The awful, thoughtless, cruel lies. You would think this is about letting me believe you were dead.

But it's not. It's about your fucking timing.

You choose now to come back. Now. Once it's done. Once I can't go back. Can't change my mind. Can bow out or back out. Can't *possibly* tell her it's off. You come back now when I was finally ready to move on. I am furious.

It felt so good to punch you tonight.

 

* * *

Hi Sherlock,

Christ, I missed you.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Did you mean something else tonight? In the tube with the bomb? Were you trying to get me to say something else? Were you trying to work up the nerve to say something? In all this time, all these texts I've never asked how you felt.

How do you feel? And why is this all so much easier by text, knowing you'll never ever see it?

I answered my own question.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I am so drunk right now. Happy drunk, not sad drunk. Engaged drunk. Forgive and forget drunk. Peaceful drunk. It's good and nice.

I still can't get over Molly's date. How can she not see it, poor thing. Bless.

That level of self-delusion...

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me all I saw in your eyes today when I asked you to be my best man was surprise. Just surprise that I thought of you as my best friend, which is ridiculous by the way. I think, again, I've answered my own question. If that surprised you...if it surprised you that I felt that way about you how could you possibly be thinking anything else?

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

There was a time before I met Mary. After your "death". I went to this bar. Just popped in. Left pretty quickly. Wasn't my crowd. At least it didn't feel like my crowd. One bloke kind of flirted and asked me my name.

I said Harry and scarpered.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I am still soooooo fucking hungover.

I can't remember much of what happened last night.

Remember when I grabbed your knee

Did I kiss you...or did I just want to?

Maybe I am still a bit drunk.

What I said when we left the cell was bullshit.

Best stag ever.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Mary and I had a row. She said, in that way of hers that she was surprised she prevailed.

I asked her what she meant.

She said, she didn't think she stood a chance against Sherlock Holmes.

I got upset, defensive. I asked her what that was supposed to mean.

"I'm surprised you didn't move us into to Baker Street. Maybe put a nice futon for me out in the hall."

She saw the look on my face and said;" John, I'm just kidding. He's your bezzie mate. You spend time with him, you work with him. I get it. I just got a bit jealous. No reason to get cross."

But I *was* cross. I could have dropped it right there but I pushed and pushed until we were in the middle of a full-fledged argument. She's gone off to stay with a friend.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

This is it. Today is the day.

I'll stand there before friends and family and Mary and God and you... and I'll tell the truth. I won't be lying. I do love her.

But on a day of truth. On a day where I wonder if what I'm doing with you is dangerous and should end, I'd like to be honest. If only just the once.

I told you, that you are the best man I have ever known. And I meant it. But there's more. There are all the things people assumed about us. All the things people believed to be true. Would it be so bad if they were? Would it be so bad if they are?

There is a path...that I would like to have walked with you. I don't know if I knew it when we met. I don't know when I knew it but I know it now.

You and I...we should have been...

I don't know how to end that sentence.

Perhaps that is the end.

"We should have been."

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I'm going to be a dad. Bloody hell. A dad. I want this. I do. I'm scared out of my mind but I want it. Mary's happy, I'm happy. I am, I'm happy.

You ran off tonight. You didn't have to. I wish you hadn't.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Married life isn't so different from single life. We wake, go to work, we share lunch, we go back to work, we come home.

We have sex, quite a bit actually. We did before we were married and we do now. I expect it to taper off once she gets a bit rounder and completely put off by me. And of course, once the baby comes. It's good too. And she's surprisingly adventurous. Like shockingly kinky, have I mentioned that? I asked here once where she learned half this stuff. She just laughed and said, You know me, secret life.

She asked me if I wanted her to try a strapon once.

She's brilliant and funny and clever. I find myself looking for her in a crowd when she's not by my side. I text her. I call her when we're apart. I love her.

I love her.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

God, I'm bored.

This is boring. That's awful to say but it is. I'm bored. Not with her, not Mary. Just...the sitting. I'm so bored of the sitting.

I'm even gaining weight. 7 pounds. 7 pounds of boring, lounging weight.

Maybe I'll start biking. God, I look ridiculous on a bike but I need something.

What's it like? Handling cases without me? Do you miss me? Do you even notice that I'm gone?

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

So, this is what happens when I leave you alone for a bit?

You go right back on it? Right back on this shit? A month, Sherlock and you're living rough in a smack den!?

And then there's Janine. Janine. I mean she's nice enough and pretty enough, certainly but...Janine? When have you ever expressed interest in anyone least of all Janine?

She's just not your type is all I'm saying. That's it. She's just not for you.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I'm writing this from the waiting room and I don't know if you're going to live or die.

Second time, now. Second time. How many people have their best friend almost die on them twice? It's got to be rare that.

Please don't die, mate. Please, please don't die. You came back from the dead for me once. What say you do it again?

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Seething. Seething and full of so much rage I can't even think straight. When she tries to speak I either ignore her or stare at her until she stops talking.

The funny thing is, she shot you and you don't even seem half as furious as I am.

I just want her to stop talking. I'm actually a bit afraid. Afraid of what I might hear, what she might say.

Seething. I am seething.

...and hurt.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Things have changed since you were shot. Since Mary shot you.

I made you a promise that if you came back I'd be brave and then I wasn't.

I can face down a gun. I can face down Moriarty but I can't tell you the truth.

Something about almost losing you twice has shaken me in ways that I can hardly stand to think about.

I keep having dreams. Surprisingly not nightmares. Dreams about you...vivid dreams.

Were you going to tell me? If it hadn't, somehow been wrapped up in Magnussen and the larger case, would you have told me? Why do I think not? Why do I think you would have protected her? Why do I believe you would have kept her secret?

Don't want to be home. Don't want to be at Baker Street.

I moved out. For how long I don't know. I'm in a hotel now.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Been thinking about what you said. About the people I choose to have around me. The people I want in my life. I suppose you're right. I chose her and I chose her wisely which means maybe this is just what I deserve. But you don't.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I've got to get my head on straight. I've got to figure out what I'm going to do next. Do I start divorce proceedings with that woman, my wife, the mother of my child before my child is even born?

I have no idea who she is. None at all. I have been bedding down with a stranger every single night. Tricked. Another trick.

Am I that gullible? That much of a fucking mark. Tricked by her, tricked by you.

A dummy? That's what she said isn't it in the steam vents?

Everybody's fool.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

It's late and I can't sleep and I have to admit to you...that some part of me knew. And I don't mean I put it together because of the chair and the perfume or any other "clues". I mean earlier than that. Some part of me knew that the pieces of Mary Morstan didn't quite fit and I blundered ahead anyway. Does that mean I truly loved...love her...or that I just want to be hurt?

Six of one, I suppose.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Funny thing. This means all the time that I was bored she was bored too. Retired superagent playing the nurse and hausfrau. Both of us smiling pretending everything was fine.

Christ.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Christmas? Why on earth would you invite us? Why are you going? Why is Mycroft going? And why did we accept? The only way we've managed to do this, to hang on is by keeping our distance from one another at home. The two of us, you, your brother, your parents and inexplicably, Bill Wiggins in one cozy little cottage? This is a nightmare waiting to happen.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Nearly did it today. She was reading...somewhere. The house was quiet, I took my laptop, I took the flash drive and I just let it hover...I almost stuck it in. Very nearly. Almost. But I stopped myself. I can't go back from A.G.R.A. It is a point of no return, isn't it? Would you read it if it were you? Could you stand to have your illusion shattered once and for all?

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Days of this, weeks of this and no matter what I get the overwhelming feeling you want us to stay together. You want us to mend this. She shot you. She very nearly killed you. Surgery or not, you almost died. How do I resolve the fact that she lied to me and that I still love her? How do I resolve the fact that I almost lost you again and I still love her? It doesn't make sense.

Neither does the idea that I'm growing nearer and nearer to talking to her, hashing this out once and for all.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I had the option of tossing one of two things into the fire today; my marriage or an awful little piece of technology capable of bringing our worlds down.

I made my choice.

Forgive the smell of burnt plastic coming from the fireplace.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I've seen men die before but I've never seen one killed before me by my best mate.

What are they going to do to you? I don't want to burden you with all this not after what you just did for me and Mary. I don't even know how to discuss this with you without running the risk of sounding hysterical. But Christ what are they going to do to you?

Thank you...That sounds so shamefully, painfully inadequate but thank you. Thank you for giving Mary her life, our life. But I never wanted you to lose yours in the process, mate.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

The car is out front to pick us up and take us...where? I don't know. Somewhere to say goodbye to you. Mycroft won't tell me where you're going. It feels ominous but I suppose there's no other way it could feel.

How do I say goodbye to you?

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

We're on our way and here's what I want to say.

Your friendship...your...love changed my life. I was just about ready to retreat from the world and happy to do so before you blew in.

Sociopath my arse.

I approached each day, before we met, with a sort of leaden dread. Wishing it to all be done with. Wishing I had died in the war. Wishing I still had a purpose. You gave that to me; a purpose. A reason for still being here. I didn't have very many friends before you. If I did I wouldn't have been so hard up to find a flatshare.

This feels final. I hope I'm wrong but the tone of it all feels final.

In case it is...how to say this.

I love you, mate.

And I'll miss you. More, I fear, than I can bear.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

"It helps me if I see myself through his eyes. I'm so much cleverer."

Was that just to placate me because you knew I was about to find out you were high again?

You move so fast sometimes I can't even keep up being furious with you.

Wait, I can actually, still quite furious.

But undeniably relieved as well.

I'd never actually say this to your face but...if Moriarty being back means you're back then I can't be that displeased.

Unseemly, I know. But I'm lying here in bed practically giddy. As giddy as I was when I saw that plane with you on it start to taxi.

I should like it if you never went away again.

Also, I'd like to hear a bit more about this mind palace version of you and I...and exactly what it is we get up to. In our off hours, I mean.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

It's been awhile, I know. I just haven't felt the need to write. I've been content, happy. I have Mary, the baby and to top it all off I've still got you about.

Thanks for babysitting today by the way. I swear we just came over for a visit. Not sure how we passed out on the couch like that. Did you slip us something? So you could spend more time with Rosamund? I wouldn't put it past you. It couldn't possibly be that we're insanely exhausted.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Well, it's half past 3 in the morning and we were just awakened by the baby...again. It was Mary's turn so I'm taking the time to text you. I used to get tired when we were on a case, when we were up until all hours of the night. But not like this. Why is this so much *more*? I don't quite get it. All I know is I'm knackered all the time. So is Mary. I'm actually kind of glad we're not allowed to have sex for six weeks. Don't think I could. I might fall asleep mid thrust as it were.

Not that she seems all that interested in me in any case. Is that what happens, I wonder? When people become parents do they stop being man and wife? Are they just Mum and Dad? And why am I already worrying about it a few weeks in? That's ridiculous of me.

Anyway, I wonder what you're doing? Something exciting no doubt. I rather wish I was with you.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

God, it felt good to be back on a case! I'm getting like you, positively ghoulish but a mystery dead boy in a car? Yes, please!

Let's see where it takes us, eh? You seem to think it goes deeper.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

How is it that you seem so calm during all of this. Do you...expect betrayal is that it? Or do you not see this a betrayal. I know she doesn't I don't even have to ask. Sometimes I think you two are better suited for each other. What with neither of you having those bothersome notions of common decency to get in the way. She drugged you and then she left me and our daughter. Just up and left. It has been a handful of *months* since Christmas, since we reconciled. Should I just accustom myself to a clockwork of lies? And you're enjoying this. I know you are. The hunt, the chases, plane after plane...

What is it the two of you have against trusting me with anything? Why is it always easier to run?

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I did something. Something that I want to confess to Mary but there hasn't been time. No, that's not the only reason. Not the real reason. The real reason is I'm enjoying her bowing and scraping. I feel I've earned it and I also feel awful that I feel I've earned it.

I'd feel terrible about lording this over her no matter what but especially after what I've done.

I cheated on her. Maybe not in action but splitting hairs ...or giving myself some sort of pass because time hasn't allowed me to act on what I want to act on doesn't exactly make me a hero.

There was a woman, on a bus. Pretty. She fancied me. I liked her. We've been texting. So I guess I've been cheating on you as well. Haha. My wife goes into the other room and I start texting another woman about how I miss her.

I'm disgusted with myself, actually. I'm disgusted with us all.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

The last time I wrote to you my wife was alive.

And now she's not.

My clothes are stained with her blood. She lied to me. I lied to her. And you lied to us both.

And here we are.

I have to go tend to my daughter now. And make plans to bury my wife.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Never again do what you did today.

Never come by my home. Never write to me. Never call.

I don't fear anything anymore, Sherlock. Not prison. Not death. Not Mycroft. Not you.

If you come near me or my daughter, I will hurt you and I will keep on hurting you. And I will enjoy it.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Why am I writing? I'm writing because she says it's a good habit. She says, what's the harm? She says it's not really going anywhere and that it's just as real as me talking to her. Mary is here with me now, simultaneously in every way that matters and every way that doesn't. I know, it's a hallucination brought on by grief and an unwillingness to let go. I know I'm barmy for talking to my dead wife who I've conjured up in my head. She comforts me. What's wrong with that?

It's all I have now. If you'd kept your vow she'd still be here.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I yelled at her today. Yelled at her for jumping in front of you to take a bullet.

Of course, I would have yelled at you...yelled at your ghost for jumping in front of her.

Can neither of you just push?

Must I only be able to have one or the other?

I haven't forgiven you. I can't forgive you. I can't forgive myself.

The things she said to me. The way she called me a "good man". I'm not a good man. I have never been a good man. I have never even been the best man that I know how to be. I am as fraudulent as any identity she ever assumed. I am as much of a liar as a woman who fakes her past and a man who fakes his death.

The company one keeps is the company that keeps them.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I told Mary I was surprised you hadn't called or written.

She said, "Well, you told him not to."

To which I said, When does Sherlock Holmes ever listen to anything I say.

"All the time. Every time. He always listens to you and he always does what you say...in his own way. You're the only one he listens to."

Sounds like a lot of bollocks to me.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Waving a gun at Mrs. Hudson. Public accusing a man of being a serial killer. Being brought in the boot of a car and delivered to my doorstep on the brink of death. So bloody far down a syringe I'm surprised you even remember your name.

I don't want this. I don't need this. Not now. Not ever again.

I am not going to be the one to pull you out of this AGAIN!

Any debt I owed you is paid in full. And to view a receipt just go to Mary's grave and read her headstone.

I will not be pulled in.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

Well...you pulled me in.

I don't know what to say. You and Mary conspiring...one last time? One last time for me.

I don't know what to do with this knowledge. Knowing that somehow, again, you two know me better than I know myself.

I felt only shame after I hit you, hurt you the way I did. It didn't make me feel better. It didn't resolve anything. I'm sorry.

I cannot fully explain to you...the fear of knowing you were in danger.

The horror I still feel now as I think of how close I may have come to being too late.

The pain even at the idea of losing you too.

It's late and of course I'm still awake. Thank you for letting me stay. Baker Street holds a comfort that I can't find at home anymore.

Did you hear any word that I said tonight, really hear? I was using Adler as a metaphor. I know she's a lesbian. I also know that relationships aren't for everyone but they are, whether you want to admit it or not, for you. You have grown and changed so much just by letting in Molly and Greg and Mrs. Hudson and Mary...and me. There's more where that came from. There's more fulfillment and peace and happiness than you can ever imagine. But by God Sherlock, it can vanish in a wink. The opportunity and the reality. It can be gone so just...grab it. Grab something. I don't care who, anymore, I used to...I used to be jealous I suppose. Worried I might lose you in some way. But now...that doesn't matter.

If you want to repay what Mary did for you then go find some happiness. Go out on a date. Go see a movie. Hold someone's hand. Touch someone. Be touched. Lay next to someone. Be the one they're lying next to. Make love to someone. Even if it gets snatched away from you...it's worth it. Losing it doesn't mean it's not worth it.

Alright, mate, it's late. I'm going to get some sleep. I might be gone before you get up I've got an early therapy session tomorrow.

Lots to talk about, I suppose.

Thank you...thank you for letting me cry in your arms.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

It must be hard for you; having two weeping Watson's. Between Rosie's tears and my own I'm not sure how you get any rest. Thank you for not mentioning it. It embarrasses me whether it should or not. And thank you for thrusting me back into work. It's helping so, so much. I hope it's helping you. I know how deeply everything with Eurus affected you and I know how badly you didn't want to let it. The Holmes family tends to gloss over tragedy and trauma but I see you trying to work through it and I'll help any way I can.

Thank you for letting Rosie and I spend so much time here at Baker Street. Thank you for loving my daughter seemingly instantaneously. And by God she's smitten with you.

I'm just trying to make sense of my life these days and I know so are you. Having the remodel of the flat take over so many of our waking moments has been incredibly helpful. I needed something all consuming and I think so did you.

Those things that Mycroft said. I believe them half the time, you know. More than half lately. Insignificant scrap of nothing. Just someone for you to dazzle. You can find another one.

Thankfully those thoughts only tend to surface at night.

Nights are still very, very hard.

* * *

 

Hi Sherlock,

I don't think we could have this conversation face to face after what's happened. You'd immediately respond with "I know that!" and things would shut down from there.

I know I've teased you a lot. We all have. In fact we've all spent a great deal of time taking the piss out of you about how you feel...how much you feel.

But in case you're wondering; you are not your sister.

You are not Eurus.

I'm not saying you haven't, in the past, been a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to what people are getting at, what they're feeling what they need from you. But you have made leaps and bounds. If you hurt people it's because you're occasionally clumsy and unthinking. It's not because you enjoy the hurt. You're human, Sherlock, flesh and blood and heart.

I've seen the heart and I could no more doubt it's existence than I could my own.

Mary didn't just encourage me to go on in that video, she meant it for you too.

I'm going to ask you tomorrow, if I have the nerve, if Rosie and I can move back to Baker Street. I've been wanting to ask you for a few months now but it never seemed like the right time. I realize living with a baby may complicate things but not much more than they are now.

I hope you'll say yes.

* * *

 

**2017**

I Sherlock

I'm starting to ate this phone. The "H" is almost completely worn out. It works intermittently but mostly every text I send sounds like I was born a stone's throw from Bow Bells.

I'm onestly a bit sad to even tink of getting rid of it. I ave every message I've ever sent to you stored on ere.

But maybe tat's a good reason to let it go.

We're tree years on from Mary death now. Rosie's about to start nursery scool and she's adamant about her Daddy and Papa Sherlock taking er on er first day.

And you and I have settled into what we are, best mates. I tink I've learned to be content with that. And if I haven't well, then, it's my fault isn't it?

So, this is the very last "Hi Sherlock", message from me. I've leaned on this crutch for too long.

And as it's the last I am finally, belatedly going to tell the truth.

I love you. As a mate, yes, but more than that. I fought it, fought against it for years. I fought against trying to figure out who I was and what I wanted from you.

Too many dreams, Sherlock. Too many fantasies. Too many times I almost told you. Almost kissed you. Almost...almost...

Still, I'm not being frank or honest enough. I want to take you to bed. I...don't even really know what that...entails? I mean, I grasp the biology, of course. But as for who would do what to who... I always figured we could learn together. When you told me, not so long ago, that you were a virgin, well I thought we could blunder forward as a pair.

I want to go out to dinner with you, I want to hold your hand, I want Angelo to bring a candle to table, you know, because it makes it more romantic. I want to kiss you goodnight and good morning. I want to kiss you. And I want everything to be the same. I want to go on cases with you and raise our daughter and bicker and argue, and driver Mrs. Hudson mad. I don't want anything to change and I want everything to change.

You are and have always been the most important person in my life. Before Mary and after Mary I wanted something more with you. Something deeper. Something I was too cowardly to ask for despite all the times I promised.

But I think maybe our time has passed. Maybe I missed my chance. It doesn't seem right to run the risk of mucking up what we have. Maybe before Rosie...but not now... Maybe after, eh? Maybe I'll plant a big kiss on you after she finishes sixth form. I think we have to think of my daughter now.

*Our* daughter.

I love you, Sherlock and I'll go on loving you. I am honored to be a member of your family.

The "H" loosened up a bit the more I pressed it. Still going to bin this phone though. In fact, why wait? I'm off, we can grab dinner when I get back.

* * *

 

Hello John,

Funny thing about habits that people fall into. They often forget why they even started them in the first place.

I delete all texts that begin with "Hi", "Howdy", "Hey", "Yo" or any other variation on a greeting that wastes my time and tries my patience.

That said, a text that begins with "I Sherlock" is likely to grab my attention.

You're currently exchanging your phone for a newer model. I've had the same phone since we met. I found that upgrades tend to bring more problems than solutions.

To the point, the interesting thing about mobiles is that even once you delete a message it's never really gone. Through fairly basic steps you can retrieve them. *All* of them.

Which is precisely what I've done. Read them all front to back.

I can plead ignorance but even I'm unsure as to whether willful or not. What I perceived as your feelings often clouded and made me doubt my own. I am not above projection.

There is relief in knowing it was not one sided. Relief in knowing I was not alone in doubt and dragging my feet. Relief in knowing I was not the only one who was willing to close the chapter and book on the possibility of...us. That is until I saw your texts.

I understand and support your concerns for little Rosie. But I feel we would be doing not just her and ourselves a great disservice were we not to attempt to pursue this to its logical conclusion, but Mary as well. I once told you that when she saved my life she conferred a value on it. In doing so she gave me a currency I was unsure of how to spend.

I know how I should like to spend it now. On you.

I cannot in good conscience promise you that I would be an adequate, agreeable partner.

But I can promise you I will try.

Well, this is the longest, single uninterrupted text message I have ever sent. I wonder what you'll reply.

* * *

 

Sherlock,

As I remember the things I said over the years I am positively mortified. But your surprising reply...well it started me shaking in the O2 store.

If I read what I think I read...what about your objection to romantic entanglements?

* * *

 

John,

Let's not play at this. You know, just as well as I do, we have apparently been entangled romantically for years.

Fair warning, though; I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential partners should know the worst about each other.

* * *

 

The funny thing is I truly believe you still think that's the worst of you.

* * *

 

Come home, John. Lots to discuss.

* * *

 

I'll be there soon.

Um...Sherlock, I've seen those three little dots that indicate you're typing something to me for awhile now. Care to press send?

* * *

 

Yes.

Sorry.

I was hesitating.

I love you.

* * *

 

I love you too, Sherlock. I'm on my way home.

* * *

 

Your family will be waiting.

 

 

* * *

 _**Continued in["](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10061966)** _ [ **The Relations Between Us In Those Latter Days"** ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10061966)


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